The Miniature Dark Lord
by Ell Roche
Summary: Everything was going to plan—until it suddenly wasn't. An accident during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries left the Death Eaters scrambling to protect their little Dark Lord. Deaged!Harry — HIATUS
1. The Bell Jar

Title: The Miniature Dark Lord

Pairings: None in particular, just mentions of canon relationships.

Warnings: AU, deaged!Harry, Harry sides with the Dark, fluff, short chapters, and some violence.

Note: This is a ficlet collection. Thus, the chapters likely won't exceed 1,500 words. Also, while they are related they might not be linear.

Summary: Everything was going to plan—until it suddenly wasn't. An accident during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries left the Death Eaters scrambling to protect their little Dark Lord. Deaged!Harry

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Chapter One:

Harry Potter walked through the Time Chamber in the Ministry of Magic toward the far door; this was all familiar. His dreams were now a reality. He was finally going to touch the prophecy that had shaped the path his life had taken. It seemed unreal that he had reached this point, that he would _know_ the truth, that everything could end once and for all.

"Harry?"

"Shh," he replied, sparing only a passing glance for Ginny Weasley.

Anyone could be listening. Someone had surely replaced Arthur Weasley as a guard for the prophecy, following Nagini's attack. Anyone could be huddled beneath an invisibility cloak, stalking them. And that didn't even take into account the possibility of Disillusionment Charms. Any wizard or witch worth his or her salt would be able to perform one—even that sniveling traitor Wormtail.

"But Harry—"

"Not now, Ron," Harry said. There was a bite to his tone that silenced Ron Weasley. Now, if his luck would hold, everyone else would be intelligent enough to keep his or her mouth shut.

Despite his friends' beliefs, Harry knew that he wasn't indestructible. The Marauder luck had seen him through more than one tight spot, but it wasn't limitless. If it had been, Wormtail never would have betrayed his parents, and James and Lily would never have trusted the rat in the first place. If Marauder luck was infallible, Sirius would never have been sent to Azkaban, and Remus would still be teaching Defense at Hogwarts. If Marauder luck were perfect and unending, Harry never would have been sent to live with the _Dursleys_.

As it was, Harry would guess that he would shortly use up the last of his luck.

When they reached the door to the Hall of Prophecy, Harry paused to glance at the five friends who had accompanied him on this mad quest. He had tried to get them to stay behind, he truly had, but each of them had insisted on following him to London and the Ministry of Magic. Their loyalty was both touching and aggravating. It would have been safer for him to do this alone; one person could slip undetected almost anywhere—six, not so much.

Wands raised, Harry and the others walked into the Hall of Prophecy. Shelves bearing dusty, small glass orbs stretched as far as the eye could see. Entering the room was like stepping into the past and the present and the future all at once. The weight of history pressed down on Harry's mind, making him feel claustrophobic. How many destinies, both good and bad, could be found here? How many lives had been lost or saved, because of words that spilled from a Seer's lips? Hundreds? Thousands? How many lives had been shaped, molded, by a handful of sentences? And how much better would countless lives have been if no one had ever heard them?

If it weren't for the prophecy, Harry likely would have never even met the Dursleys. But because of it, he had suffered for years in their _care_. Always knowing that they could never love him as they loved their precious Dudders. Dudley was, after all, normal. And Harry was completely "unnatural". If his parents had lived, would it have been the other way around? Would Dudley have been the "unnatural" one? He didn't know, but he liked to think that would be the case.

Harry's parents had loved him, and that was enough. They had died for him, and he couldn't possibly have asked for more than that as a sign of dedication.

The elongated, cathedral-like room was silent as they spread out and looked for the correct row—97. The one right in front of the door they had entered through said row 53, eerie blue candlelight shining above the plaque. There were many more rows than that, and Harry absently wondered if the newest prophecies were closest to the right wall, the older ones being pushed farther away with each destiny a Seer foretold. He didn't even want to try to figure out how many had been told in the last sixteen or so years if his and Voldemort's was already in row 97.

Harry shivered from the cold as he hurried toward the right place; it didn't take him long to reach it. It was just like it had been in his dreams. Then, once he found row 97, Harry stepped into the darkness between the shelves. Sirius was nowhere to be seen. The blue candlelight was dim as he hunted for the prophecy that bore his name. And then, finally, after all this time, there it was.

Hand trembling, Harry reached out and picked up the orb that had irreparably altered the course of his life.

Twelve Death Eaters moved out of the shadows, and Harry stepped backward. His friends surrounded him, their wands brandished high. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't the plan, and they hadn't accounted for this deviancy.

"Now give me the prophecy, Potter," Lucius Malfoy said. His voice was quite distinctive.

"I know Sirius is here. I know you've got him!" But even as Harry said the words, he doubted their veracity. It was obvious that Sirius wasn't here, had never been here, and Harry knew it.

Lucius took a threatening step forward and said, "It's time you learned the difference between life and dreams, Potter. Now give me the prophecy, or we start using wands."

The last thing Harry wanted to do was fight twelve Death Eaters with five teenagers at his side. However, it didn't look like he had much of a choice. Harry gritted his teeth and gestured to his companions, knowing they would understand him. Then, in unison, they all yelled, "_Reducto!_" wands aimed at the surrounding shelves. As the shelves collapsed around them, setting off an avalanche of chaos, Harry turned and fled. A hand grabbed his arm—Nott, he thought—but Hermione Granger Stunned the man, and Harry escaped.

"We'll split into pairs and search, and don't forget, be gentle with Potter until we've got the prophecy, you can kill the others if necessary . . ." Lucius said from behind them.

Somehow, amidst the mayhem, Harry, Hermione, and Neville Longbottom were separated from the others. They leapt into the Time Room, evading all of their followers but two. After sealing the door, the fight began in earnest.

"_Stupefy!_" Harry exclaimed, wand pointed at the nearest Death Eater. The black-clad form crumpled to the floor.

The second Death Eater—Rabastan Lestrange, perhaps?—snarled at Hermione. "_Avada Ked_—" Harry dove forward and tackled him before he could finish the incantation.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Neville said.

Harry groaned as he felt his wand rip itself from his hand. Perfect, just perfect. Because being unarmed in this situation was just what he needed. The wizard he was grappling with struggled to reach his own wand, which had also been the victim of Neville's spell. However, before Rabastan could reach it, Hermione glared and snapped, "_Stupefy!_"

Rabastan's arm was around Harry's shoulders as he fell backward and crashed into a bell jar. It was large and made of crystal, emitting a dancing, diamond-bright light. A tiny jewel-bright egg swirled through the sparkling current, and then hatched into a small, stunning hummingbird. Rabastan's head turned into a baby's, and then shifted older and older until it reached adulthood. The phenomenon repeated.

"Harry, are you all right?" asked Hermione.

"Harry!" Neville tossed Harry's wand to him, and Harry caught it.

Neville and Hermione rushed toward Harry, and that was when everything went really, really wrong. While running to see if he was all right, Neville stepped on Rabastan's wand and slipped. He might have regained his balance if the other Stunned Death Eater hadn't been in the way. Instead, he tripped over the prone body—probably Rodolphus Lestrange, since Rabastan held Harry—and slammed into the table the bell jar was resting on.

Harry watched, horrified, as it tumbled off the table and crashed into the floor, shattering on impact. The iridescent fluid splattered all over Harry, and the jewel-bright egg landed in his open mouth. He swallowed reflexively, and that was when the pain began.

He was no stranger to pain, but this . . . _this_ agony far exceeded anything he had ever felt before. It was like, he imagined, downing an entire tub full of Skele-Gro, though this seemed to work in reverse, because he could feel his bones and skin shrinking at an accelerated pace. The pain in his body, specifically his head, was excruciating. "Ah!" he screamed, throat hoarse. "S-stop!" All he wanted was for the pain to go away, and he would do anything to make that a reality.

Between one blink and the next, Harry could breathe again. He struggled against the loose fabric that bound him. Were these adult clothes? His little fingers clutched the prophecy orb and smooth piece of wood as he glanced around the room, not recognizing a single feature. Where was he? And why was he there?

"H-Harry?"

Harry's head snapped upward, gaze fixing on a girl with bushy brown hair that he had never seen before. Her mouth was flapping, and there was a long, thin stick in her hand. A wand? She was a witch.

"S-sorry, Harry. You all r-right?" another voice asked. A blond boy, also holding a wand, got to his feet after pushing himself off the floor.

Harry stared at the piece of wood in his hand and realized it was also a wand. Why did he have a wand? How did they know his name? What was going on? He shifted, and then glanced over his shoulder when he felt a warm presence. He recognized the robes, but not the person. But that hint of familiarity was all Harry needed. If someone wearing those robes were here, then _he_ had to be here too.

So Harry threw his head back and wailed for the only person he knew would keep him safe. "Uncle Lucius!"


	2. The Little Lord

Note: I am very fond of constructive criticism. Please let me know if you find any errors. And thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read and review. I appreciate your support of my writing.

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Chapter Two:

Another door flew open, revealing two more Death Eaters. They left what appeared to be an office as they hurried into the Time Chamber. Hermione and Neville were slow to turn, but they still managed to dodge the impediment jinxes and return fire.

"_Silencio!_" Hermione exclaimed, her wand aimed at the taller attacker.

Harry struggled to escape the over-sized clothing that held him prisoner, wiggling in his bid for freedom. He would feel much safer if he could hide behind the Death Eater he was leaning against. At least until these potential kidnappers—the boy and girl—had been dealt with. At the same time, he really didn't want to make himself vulnerable or attract their attention—just as he didn't want to distract his rescuers while they were dueling the kidnappers.

The boy with blond hair swished his wand at the shorter robed figure. "_Petrificus Totalus_."

Harry flinched when the man fell to the floor, stiff as a board. How was he supposed to be safe if two kids were taking out his rescuers? Uncle Lucius was not going to be happy with his fellow Death Eaters.

"Neville, grab Harry and get out of here!" said the girl.

As the boy—Neville—ran toward him, Harry fought against the loose fabric. He had to get away before he was captured again. He didn't know where he was, or why he had been brought here, but he wasn't going to let them steal him again. Who knew what they would do to him once he was in their clutches? They would probably torture him for information on Lucius. Or, worse, they might try to hurt Tom. Harry couldn't allow that to happen.

"I'll get him, Hermione. Don't worry," said Neville, face hard with determination.

The tall Death Eater, the only one still mobile, slashed his wand through the air like a sword. A stream of purple flames leapt from it and slammed into Hermione's chest. She gasped softly, and then collapsed to the floor.

"Hermione!" Neville roared. He took a step toward her, and then bit his lip and glanced back at Harry, as if he wasn't sure whether to try to save her or follow the last order she had given him. Before he could decide, the Death Eater strode forward and punched Neville; Harry heard his nose break. A gush of blood poured down Neville's face. He screamed wetly and gruffly. Then the Death Eater grabbed Neville's wand from his loose grasp and snapped it in half. A moment later, Neville crumpled to the floor, Stunned.

The victorious Death Eater crouched before Harry and waved his wand above Harry, before motioning at himself with it. The clothes Harry was lying in suddenly fit him perfectly, no longer restricting his movements. "Thank you," Harry said.

"You're welcome, Little Lord." The Death Eater smiled at him, and Harry could tell he didn't smile often. It looked stretched, as if he didn't know how to use his muscles to properly make the expression. "I'm Antonin Dolohov."

The man was telling the truth; Harry could sense it. However, that didn't seem possible. Unless he was . . . "Am I in Azkaban?" asked Harry. Lucius and Tom had made Harry memorize the names of all the Death Eaters, and where they were, so he would know whom he could trust if anything ever happened to him. Dolohov had been in Azkaban.

"No, Little Lord. The Dark Lord broke us out of Azkaban earlier this year," Dolohov explained. "You're in the Ministry of Magic. The Department of Mysteries, to be specific."

"I see," Harry said, even though he didn't. What in the world was going on? If the prisoners had been freed, surely Tom would have told him so. Tom was constantly grumbling in Harry's head about his most loyal followers being unfairly imprisoned by the Light Side. Trying to separate the wizarding and Muggle worlds wasn't a crime!

Dolohov aimed his wand at each of the fallen Death Eaters in turn, casting a series of "_Finite_." When they roused, he introduced each of them. The wizard behind Harry was Rabastan Lestrange, the one Neville had Petrified was Jugson, and the third wizard was Rodolphus Lestrange.

Rabastan groaned and rubbed his head, which was back to normal now that the bell jar had been destroyed. He blinked twice, and then glanced down at Harry, mouth open in disbelief. "What happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Dolohov replied. "He was like this when we got here."

Harry's temper cracked like a whip. "Don't talk about me like I'm not here!"

Jugson smirked and snorted. "They're used to kids being stupid, Little Lord. It'll take them a while to adjust."

Huffing, Harry stood and crossed his arms over his chest. He tightened his hold on his wand and the glass ball. He wasn't sure why he had them, but he instinctively knew that he had to keep them safe. "You said we're in the Ministry. Why are we here?"

"So you could retrieve the prophecy," Rodolphus answered. He pointed at the orb in Harry's hand. "Now that we've got it, I think we should leave before Dumbledore's pets show up and try to take it. And you."

Harry gritted his teeth as hatred clouded his vision. Did the Stunned teenagers belong to Dumbledore? It would make sense. After all, Tom had told him that Headmaster Dumbledore caused more harm than good. It was Dumbledore's fault that Tom had been stuck in the horrible orphanage every summer. And Dumbledore wouldn't let Tom teach the students Defense Against the Dark Arts. And Dumbledore placed Harry with the _Dursleys_. His gaze narrowed viciously.

Tom was no paragon of virtue, by any means, but his plans made sense to Harry. Muggles were mean and cruel to magical children; his own relatives starved him and kept him locked in a cupboard! Creating a permanent break between the magical and Muggle worlds was the only way to protect other children from what had happened to them.

And if blood had to be spilled to protect kids like him, well, Harry could accept that. There were worse things in life than death. Sometimes dying was the easy route to take.

"I don't remember coming here," Harry confessed. The four Death Eaters glanced at each other over his head, and Harry rolled his eyes. "But now is clearly not the time to discuss that. So, carry me," he ordered as he walked over to Jugson. Neville had felled this wizard with one spell; Harry trusted the others to keep him safe more than he trusted this man, who obviously wasn't much of a dueler. Dolohov had managed to take out both of the opponents while Silenced! Jugson couldn't handle one while fully functional. _Pathetic_. He clearly needed more time to recover from the years he had spent in Azkaban.

"As you wish, Little Lord," said Jugson.

Jugson bent down and picked Harry up, before sliding Harry onto his back. Harry folded his arms around Jugson's neck and made himself comfortable. This would not only be faster, but he would have a living shield if necessary. Tom would be pissed off if anything happened to him. Harry didn't like it when Tom was mad at him; Tom was his best friend. "Take me to Uncle Lucius," Harry ordered.

Both Lestranges and Dolohov formed a triangle around them, a shield of protection. Dolohov led them to the nearest door, which was the office he and Jugson had left earlier. There was another door in that room, which led out into a large, round room. The walls were covered in doors.

"Harry!"

"What did you do to him?"

Harry peeked over Jugson's shoulder to see three more teenagers present; they were likely here with the two who had been left behind. One was a blonde girl, willowy, who vaguely resembled Lucius. And then there were two redheads: a girl who was favoring one ankle, and a boy with too many freckles. "How do you know my name?" he demanded.

The redheaded girl glared viciously at the Death Eaters and spat, "_Accio Harry Potter!_"

Harry roared; it felt like every bone in his body was going to be ripped out of his skin and impale Jugson. Dolohov mumbled a quick "_Finite_" and the pain faded. Harry shuddered against Jugson's back and tugged against his neck.

"Get me to Lucius. Now!" Dumbledore's minions were even crueler than he had thought. Only a monster would attempt to Summon a person. The balance of magic would be overcome and the victim's own magic would fight against it. Tom would Cruciate people, and Bludgeon them, and much more, but he would _never_ Summon someone's magic. Tom would kill them if they were unworthy of it, yes. But he would never attempt to steal it.

The thought of someone ripping his magic from his body made Harry nauseous. If he didn't get out of here soon, and somewhere safe, he was going to be sick all over Jugson.

Several of the doors around the room burst open in quick succession, and eight more Death Eaters flooded inside. Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he recognized Lucius's pale hair. Harry was safe now, because he knew he would only be hurt if Lucius died, and Malfoys weren't easy to kill.

"Uncle Lucius!" Harry yelled.

The students clamored and cast spells frantically, but Harry ignored them to the best of his ability. They were greatly outnumbered; he was safe now.

Lucius spun around, shocked, and then sprinted to Harry's side. He grasped Harry by the waist, and so Harry shoved the orb and wand into his pockets before leaping at Lucius and wrapping himself around his uncle. "What happened?" Lucius breathed as he carded a hand through Harry's messy hair. "Are you all right?"

Before Harry could answer, four wizards and a witch appeared, throwing curses left and right as they battled against the Death Eaters. Harry huddled against Lucius and squeezed his eyes shut. Why couldn't they just let him go home with Lucius? He didn't want to be here, even if the teenagers somehow knew his name. He was tired. He was scared. He just wanted them all to _go away_!

A spell whizzed nearby, and Harry's eyes snapped open. Less than ten feet away was a man that looked remarkably like Lucius; he even had smoky gray eyes. But he was leaner, and his hair was black as soot. The wizard's eyes were crazed, as if his mind had been broken. His wand shook as he glared at Lucius and spat, "Get away from my godson."


	3. The Stolen Years

Note: I am very fond of constructive criticism. Please let me know if you find any errors. Thank you for your kind reviews. I apologize for the delay in updates; life has been crazy lately.

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Chapter Three:

Harry stared at the newcomer, nonplussed. His godfather? He vaguely remembered Tom mentioning Sirius Black as taking the blame for the death of Harry's parents, or their betrayal anyway, but knew it all to be a lie. Pettigrew had betrayed Harry's family, and Tom had killed his parents. And knowing what he did of Muggles, Harry couldn't blame either of them. Because Tom was right, Muggles were horrid and abusive.

"Harry?" asked Sirius. He reached out with the hand that wasn't holding a wand, as if he could pull Harry from Lucius's grasp.

Tilting his head, Harry eyed the man. His godfather appeared to be almost entirely insane, which was more than a little frightening. People thought Tom was a lunatic, but he wasn't. He was a genius who wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty in the name of what was right.

When Harry didn't reach out to take the hand, or squirm in Lucius's grasp, Sirius whispered, "Don't you remember me?"

As Harry shook his head, ignoring the dueling around them to the best of his ability—the Death Eaters were winning—Sirius slumped. Then his eyes hardened like granite. "What did you do to him, Malfoy?"

"Harry, this is your blood-traitor godfather, Sirius Black," Lucius said with a sneer.

"Aunt Narcissa's cousin," Harry stated, drawing on the knowledge Tom held. That was it, right? He was the one who had run away from his family, abandoned them, and broke his mother's and brother's heart. Sirius Black had purposefully chosen to stand opposite his family—who loved him—and attack them. "A man without loyalty," mumbled Harry.

Sirius flinched and swayed, and then collapsed on the floor, bound in shadowy chains and unconscious. A witch with wild black hair and a sinister cackle was prancing behind him, taunting his fallen form. Her babbling baby talk reminded Harry greatly of his Aunt Petunia, and he almost ordered Lucius to Silence her.

"Let's get out of here," Harry said. "I was told we came for the prophecy, and I have it. There's no need to tempt fate." He still didn't know how he had come to be in the Ministry, but he wasn't going to chance getting captured by their enemies.

Lucius's grip on him tightened, and a worried frown flitted across his face. "Someone had to tell you why we were here?"

"We found him like that in the Time Room," Dolohov said. "Nobody knows what happened. He recognized my name, but not me, and he thought we were in Azkaban."

After barking the order for a retreat, Lucius turned and exited the room. A long, black corridor stretched out before them. The sound of fighting grew distant, and then ended altogether as they hustled through the corridors and into the lift.

"We left men behind," Harry said, displeasure in each syllable. "Three, to be exact."

"They're Unspeakables, Little Lord. They'll be able to Apparate out of the Department of Mysteries," Rabastan said. His hand hovered in the air, as if he wanted to ruffle Harry's hair, and then thought better of it. "They'll keep the Order occupied long enough for us to leave through the Floo, and then follow us to Headquarters."

"That's acceptable," Harry responded. Both he and Tom had a fear of being left behind, of being abandoned. And so they would not abide followers who would leave others to a gruesome fate. But he hadn't tasted or heard a lie in Rabastan's voice, so he would believe him. Of course, if those three _didn't_ return safely Harry would ensure Rabastan suffered for breaking faith with him.

"You really don't remember coming here, Little Lord?" Rodolphus asked.

Harry shook his head. "The last thing I remember is being in Malfoy Manor. I was having tea with Uncle Lucius and Aunt Narcissa, while Draco was at Nott Manor." Draco was always out when Harry came to visit. Children, himself excluded, were terrible at keeping secrets, and no one could know that Harry sided whole-heartedly with the Dark Lord. Planning Tom's revival was an extended process; Harry knew he could best help his friend by being in a position to spy on Dumbledore. Tom had rejected the plan most strenuously for weeks, insisting Harry should just stay somewhere safe. If Dumbledore ever found out the truth about his scar . . .

"How is Draco?" Harry asked politely. Though they had never met, he always wondered what his little blond cousin was like. Other than spoiled.

"He's recently turned sixteen," Lucius said carefully, as if afraid of how Harry would respond. "But he's well. Top of his class in Potions."

Harry struggled with Lucius's comments, trying to fit them into an order that made sense. Draco was sixteen? How was that possible? Draco and he were the same age. Merlin, almost all the pureblood heirs were the same age this generation. Nott's son was their age. Parkinson's daughter. Crabbe's and Goyle's sons. "I've lost ten years?" Harry mumbled.

"Ah, so you're six, then," Jugson said triumphantly, as if he had been betting with himself. Harry liked the man less each time he spoke.

"Five," Harry snapped. "Draco's older." Much older now, apparently. "But how?"

"I'm not sure, Little Lord," Dolohov replied. He was smiling that wrong smile again, and Harry wished he would stop. Harry might look like a child, but he wasn't one—had never really been one. Possessing all the knowledge Tom did, since he was eighteen months old, had aged his mind by decades. He didn't need reassurance like a child. "But Rookwood will probably know. He's one of the Unspeakables, and I know he's worked in the Time Chamber before."

"Then I will wait for an explanation from him." Harry closed his eyes and leaned his head on Lucius's shoulder. He was tired and frustrated. He hated this—losing part of himself, and such a large part. Somehow, someway, a decade of life had been stolen from him. He had already lost too much in his life to tolerate someone removing part of his actual life. Harry likened it to being hit with an extremely overpowered Obliviate. People he should know, things he had done, places he had been, progress they had made—all gone.

"Are you all right, Harry?" asked Lucius. He rubbed circles on Harry's back, easing the tension that was knotting his muscles.

"Did it work?" Harry asked as he ran a finger over his scar. It was part of Tom's soul, and had held Tom's spirit after his body was destroyed. Only, Harry couldn't feel him as well now. So, was Tom back? Or had something happened to him?

"Did what work?" asked Lucius, as he craned his neck to try to meet Harry's gaze with his own.

"The plan. The spying. Tom getting his body back," Harry elaborated, suddenly desperate to know. Why had Harry been with those teenagers? Because it didn't sound like he had come to the Ministry with the Death Eaters. Had he been a prisoner? Was it part of a ruse? Had he been Imperiused? Harry was missing so much information, and only knew that because Uncle Lucius had just told him he was supposed to be almost sixteen. The lack of suspicious blank spots in his mind was unsettling. It was as if the last ten years of his life had been erased.

A unanimous gasp echoed through the lift and several of the Death Eaters rubbed their left arms. "Why don't you see for yourself, Harry," Lucius replied with a grin.

The lift doors opened just as Harry's scar started to tingle. There, in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, stood Tom Riddle—in all his glory. He was even taller than Harry had imagined, based off the images shared through their link. Tom had wavy black hair to his shoulders and eyes as red as the rose petals in Aunt Narcissa's garden. He was strong, his magic radiating around him, and seemed to be no older than twenty-five.

Tom stared at him with worry and affection, which made Harry's heart burn with happiness. They had succeeded! Tom was back. Harry hadn't failed in his self-appointed task. He wanted to leap from Lucius's arms and hug his best friend, but this was neither the appropriate time or place.

"Harry," Tom said fondly.

Harry beamed at his oldest and dearest friend. The man who had given him a real family—the Death Eaters, particularly the Malfoys—and protected him from the Muggles he had been forced to live with. "Tom."

An erratic magical signature destroyed their reunion, as Dumbledore hurried into the room. He looked like a half-mad sorcerer, glittering blue eyes darting from Harry in Lucius's hold to Tom, and then to the other Death Eaters in quick succession. "Release him!" Dumbledore's voice boomed like thunder and sparked like lightning; Harry's ears ached from the force of the command.

Tom took five steps and placed him between Dumbledore and Harry. "Get him out of here," Tom ordered, his yew wand at the ready. "Now!"

Eight Death Eaters surrounded Lucius and Harry as they sprinted for the fireplaces that lined the Atrium. Shields were layered over the top of them as Tom deflected curses one after the other. When they finally reached the nearest Floo, Harry glanced back to see Tom and Dumbledore in a vicious duel, the older wizard's face twisted with righteous indignation and rage.

"You cannot have Harry!" bellowed Dumbledore, a jet of golden flames gushing from his wand. Before they could hit Tom, a shield of ice and water swirled into existence and steam erupted—hissing and spitting.

The flames turned green, and Lucius stepped into them, Harry clutched tightly against him. Harry tore his gaze away from Tom, worry eating at him, and met Dumbledore's eyes with his own. Hatred swelled for the wizard who dared to attack the only person who truly understood him. Right before he and Lucius vanished, Harry said, "If you harm Tom, I'll destroy you."


End file.
